


Enough

by Scavenge4Dreams



Series: As Easy As... [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt Steve, Hurt Tony, Kidnapping, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Feels, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Why Tony?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3659895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavenge4Dreams/pseuds/Scavenge4Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will you save the man you love, even though it will end your own life?<br/>All you have to do is jump.</p><p>Do you love him, Tony?<br/>Do you love him enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Tony shivered slowly back to wakefulness, blinking open groggily to surroundings swathed in shadowy darkness.  The sting of cold air nipped at his skin, bringing reluctant awareness seeping into his bleary mind.  He blinked again, fuzzy with half recollections of memories, blurred and out of focus, fading into and out of each other, seamless and yet disjointed, confusing and disconcerting.

 

He shook his head slightly, trying to get his bearings, and his dull, shadowed world exploded into a swirling kaleidoscope of blackness with a foul greyness seeping in at the edges.   His stomach dropped, nauseating dizziness enveloped him, and he screwed his eyes shut tight against the rising bile, headache pounding at his temples.

 

He felt… he felt _hungover._

 

And although he’d been completely sober for over a year, it was _hard_ , the temptation constantly there at the back of his mind, and he hadn’t, he _couldn’t_ have, except that he knew he so very easily could have.

 

Many things could have set him on this path, so many different instigators, and yet they all had one thing in common.  One _person_ in common.

 

He’d made a promise, just over a year ago. Actually, he’d made two.  The first to a distraught, wrecked Steve, the morning after the last time he’d _overindulged_ , to the point of half killing himself.  Tony had pled, begged and pleaded, and then finally, he’d promised. He’d promised Steve he’d stop. That he wouldn’t drink again. Never again.

 

And then, later, in the cold emptiness of their- _his_ rooms, Steve’s side of the bed neatly made, sketchbooks, pencils, books and the picture of Steve, Peggy and Bucky missing off the side-table,  all collected and removed, _because Steve hadn’t been able to believe him,_ Tony, open scotch bottle in hand, had made a second promise, to himself.   He promised himself that he wouldn’t lose Steve, no matter what it took. He’d do it. And then he’d upended the bottle over the sink.

 

He’d meant that promise, and he’d kept it. Kept it until Steve had believed him, until Steve had moved back into his life, with whispers of pride and gratitude and relief.    And then he’d continued to keep it, until he’d almost come to believe it himself.

 

Three months had become six had become a year, and he’d kept his promises.  And although every day was a struggle, some harder than others, some barely noticeable, he’d never once considered giving in, because _he’d promised Steve._

 

And now, dizzy, nauseated, headache pounding waves of misery against his skull, Tony, with no memory of the events that had led to this moment, couldn’t see himself giving in to that temptation.  Couldn’t fathom _why_ he’d risk losing the best thing that had ever happened to him.  

 

_Unless he’d already lost it._

 

The sudden thought had his heart stuttering in his chest, an ache so raw he felt it grating against the arc reactor, and pushing through the fear, the pain and dizziness, he _moved,_ opening his mouth to call for Steve.

 

And promptly realised that he couldn’t.

 

Move, that is.

 

*** _as easy as***_

 

Waking up mostly naked, extremely hungover, with no idea where he was or how he got there wasn't exactly unfamiliar.

 

Waking up mostly naked, extremely hungover, with no idea where he was or how he got there, with his hands tied was also not a first, although admittedly, it had been a while.

 

And upon further thought and a little more speculation, he figured that the spectacular headache and heavy nausea was more likely a result of whatever drug had been used to incapacitate him, slowly wearing off, rather than alcohol induced. A fact for which he wasn’t ready to examine the depth of his complete and utter relief.

 

It also meant _he’d_ been fucking kidnapped _again_. 

 

It wasn’t that he wished it was one of the others, but really, surely they could at Lear acknowledge that it was someone else’s _turn._ In the big picture of the universe, why did he seem to be the favourite for capture and torture?  He was actually _nine_ to a team average of two... ten now. 

Yeah, he got it; minus the suit he was just a regular super-genius, and probably seemed like the least capable one of the team. But… _super genius._    Every single time, he’d walked away and his captors had…various definitions of _not._

 

Tony Stark wasn’t someone you wanted to fuck with.

 

So why was he, yet again, a pawn in the ‘’villain-of-the-weeks’ nefarious, yet likely overwhelmingly stupid plan.

 

Tony Stark hated being a pawn.

 

He was king!

 

Okay, so in all honesty Fury was probably the king. Fucking eyepatch. Tony was at least a damn knight, though. Except Steve, with his stupid noble face was definitely a knight. And he supposed that Thor was also a knight, seeing as how there wasn’t a prince or a god on the damn board.  Nat and Clint were bishops; knives, bullets and arrows flying at angles across a battlefield, providing backup. Maybe Tony could be a rook. Rooks were cool. And he had totally pulled Fury’s bacon from the fire on a number of occasions, but… Coulson and Pepper were the rooks. Solid as castles, always there when needed, powerhouses in their own right, always on the straight and narrow.   

 

Damn. He _wasn’t_ being a fucking pawn.    Was. Not.

Oh.     _Oh._ Well, that actually made a lot of sense, even if he was loathe to admit it. 

 

All over the damn board, up in everyone’s business. The favourite, dynamite in his own right, he did what he wanted when he wanted. 

And was totally off screwing one of the knights behind the kings back.

_He was the fucking queen._

God, he was so hungover right now.

 

Whether it was due to his righteous fury at somehow ending up the pawn in someone’s game, or a result of the overwhelming fear that had swamped him earlier, Tony’s mind struggled to clear, his not inconsiderable cylinders firing past the fog of his drug induced nonsense, and he began trying to take in his surroundings and situation.

 

He couldn’t see a damn thing, beyond a sullen greyness that seemed to envelope him, his vision was lost to darkness within a few feet of his own position. The room though, or cavern, or _cave_ …whatever it was ( _please not a cave_ ) felt huge, yawning in mass across a large distance, cold and empty.   He also felt, for some unknown reason, like he was… elevated.

 

He was actually standing.  Which was a complete and utter shock, considering he’d had no idea he wasn’t decked out on the ground until five seconds ago, but looking down, he could see his socked toes as they wiggled slightly against cold cement.  Cement was reassuring, it spoke more towards room than cave.  And well, his toes didn’t just wiggle, he wiggled them, but he supposed movement was a good thing, even if his brain didn’t seem awake enough to correlate his own actions with the result.   

 

Toes, check.  Movement, check. Socks, check.

 

The socks were important, that much Tony knew, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why.   Even more importantly perhaps, he was missing his shoes.  And his pants.

 

He was kind of thankful for the boxers, not that he gave a crap about his modesty, but it _was_ cold.   He wasn’t sure that he shouldn’t also be mildly offended, though.  Did his not so intelligent kidnapper honestly believe that Tony _fucking_ Stark couldn’t work out some genius escape using his boxers and socks?

 

He totally could.  

 

He just had to work out a way to get his hands free, so he could get the damn boxers off.

 

He could feel the rope bound around his wrists, biting into the cold skin, and then again around his elbows, pulling his arms in tight at an odd angle against his back, his fists clenched almost at shoulder blade height. Fuck he was lucky he was flexible.

 

There was also something ram-rod straight shoved up between his arms and his back, and Tony supposed that’s what had been keeping him off the ground when he’d been unconscious. A post of some kind, hard and unyielding, rough against his skin; wood perhaps.

 

The first step to getting free was to get away from the damn post. If he could manage to lift his arms over where he felt the top of the post cutting into his back, he’d be able to move more freely.

 

Whoever had tied him to the damn thing had obviously measured twice and cut once, because it was a ridiculously tight move. There was _just_ enough give in the ropes for Tony to pull himself to his toes, using his own body’s leverage to keep his balance.  Quietly, _quietly,_ not willing to alert his captors, if they were present, that he was awake any earlier than he had to, his gasps stifled to breathless huffs, and swearing kept internal, Tony began to push up and back.

 

A half shuffling move, half wriggling stretch, and he felt the rope between his elbows slowly start to slide up the post. With each movement, he felt the post slide a fingers width further down his back, until finally, stretched as absolutely far as he could, his chest straining to draw in breath, bowed in a backwards arch over the top of the post, he felt the rope catch on what felt like a lip.

 

Breath whistling almost silently through his teeth, sweat dripping into eyes, the salt stinging, Tony swore quietly under his breath, and with nothing left for it, he jumped, a tiny hobbled lift from the ground, his feet scrambling for purpose on the base of the post behind him, needing that _tiny_ bit more height.   He hissed as the rough edge of the post scraped a furrow of fire into his bare skin, shoulder blades to mid back, and then, with an almost _popping_ sound, the rope caught on something solid, jutting out from the post, and then pulled free, thrusting Tony forward with unexpected momentum.

 

Several things happened at once.

 

Lights flared into brilliance around him, illuminating the space of his capture, but Tony didn’t have even seconds to notice, as his forward moment threatened to propel him off the edge of the small precipice he’d apparently been standing on.   Digging his heels in, catching the cement edge on the fine threads of cotton, hips thrust forward, Tony threw the weight of his upper body backwards, gagging as the rope he’d yet to notice around his throat tightened as he fell backwards.   

 

Scrambling away from the edge, struggling to get his feet back under him and regain his balance, Tony choked and spluttered, coughing as his access to oxygen was stolen, and his throat closed in a bruising grip.

 

Barely able to hear his own ragged breathing through the rush of blood in his ears, Tony finally managed to stand upright, backed up against the post that had held him, arms bound tightly behind him, pulled into an ungainly and disfiguring position, clad in only socks and boxers as chilled air prickled his bare skin. 

 

With a noose about his neck, and plummet to death barely a foot in front of him.

 

And then, about the only thing that could possibly have made this situation both better and worse.

 

“Tony? I- is that you?! ” a voice, kind of quiet, breathless almost, but also undoubtedly Steve’s.

 

***as easy as***

It took Tony such a long moment to sort through the sudden mess of fear, terror, relief, hope and dread, that Steve called again, this time slightly more frantic, voice slightly stronger in its worry, “Goddamn it! Tony?!”

 

Shaking himself free of his stupor, Tony answered, “Steve! I’m okay, I’m fine. The others?”

 

“Jus’ you. Thought it was just me- ‘til second ago. Know w…what’s going on?” Came the quiet answer and Tony was able to pinpoint the direction as the far side of the cavernous room they were in.

 

Room, not a cave, but huge, and oddly framed.  A ridiculously high ceiling, some 20 feet above them, with a dividing wall splitting the room in two, possibly half height, at maybe 10 feet.

 

Steve’s voice was coming from the far side of the wall.

 

“...Sorry Cap, I’m at a loss.  Maybe this one’s you’re fault?” Tony called back, scoping the room and its odd structure.

 

Steve’s voice was light, wispy and whether that was from the teasing lilt or from some other cause, Tony wasn’t sure, “When’s it _not-_ your fault?”

 

Tony sighed, “Point. But really, I’ve got nothing. I haven’t done anything to piss anyone off more than usual for weeks! ”

 

“ _Worry about why and who later._ -What’s your situation?”  Steve asked, sounding further away, voice softer.

 

“I’m a bit tied up, kind of stuck. Not too precarious”, Tony lied. Well, it wasn’t a lie unless he fell off the edge of his own personal mini-cliff, but Steve didn’t need to know that if he didn’t already know that. 

 

“ _Yeah, I’m_ \- much the same…” Steve replied, pausing in the middle of his sentence before continuing, slightly stronger, and Tony, master peddler of bullshit himself, could smell what Steve was shovelling from a mile away.

 

“Really? What, tied to a post like me? Can you get your arms over the top like I did?” he asked, trying to pinpoint exactly where Steve was on the far side of the room, but unable to see anything beyond an assortment of ropes and chains hanging from the ceiling, which didn’t really do a whole lot for his sense of relief.

 

Steve huffed an airy breath, his voice lilting with soft relief as he answered, “You’re loo- _loose_?”

 

“Sorry to bust your bubble, babe, don’t expect Ironman to save his princess anytime soon.  I’m only partially loose, still tied up, but I can move around a bit” – _straight off a ledge to my death, “_ Doesn’t really help us much, I’m still stuck in the same area.   What about you, can I expect ‘Cap to the rescue’ anytime soon?”

 

Steve heaved a sigh, replying, “Not ‘xactly. I’m kind of, _under_ something”.

 

Tony frowned, _under something_ , what the hell did that mean? “What are you under? _”_

“… _A slab?”_ was the short reply.

 

“A slab?” Tony asked, trying to imagine it, truthfully trying to work out why Steve hadn’t just lifted it off… super strength and all.

 

“Yes Tony, a slab! Some type of rock, I think-” In his frustrated ire, Steve’s voice was louder, but more strained, and as he trailed off, Tony realised that Steve was actually _gasping for air._    

 

Moving slowly, carefully trying to maintain his balance, difficult with his arms bound at such a sharp angle behind him, and the weight of the rope, rubbing coarse and heavy against the tender skin of his throat, Tony inched closer to the edge of the platform, trying to see.

 

His silence must have worried Steve, because his voice was quieter as he called, “ _Tony?_

 _-okay?_ ”

 

“Yeah Cap, Don’t worry. I’m okay, really. I’m not hurt.  Still getting over a bit of a rude awakening, though.”  Tony answered, not really paying any attention to what he was saying, standing much closer to the edge than he was comfortable with, at least while not decked out in red and gold.

 

“ _Good-ugh! ”_ Steve’s sharply drawn in breath matched Tony’s, although for different reasons. Tony, as far over the edge as he felt he could go without rising falling, had finally caught a glimpse of his partner, just as the giant slab of what appeared to besome form of rock _,_ pinning him to the floor, lowered another inch.    

 

“Steve! ” Tony called, worried when no further sound was forthcoming, and he leaned further over the edge, his own safety be damned, as he tried to get a better view, only able to see the slab, the fingertips of a hand and the very ends of a few locks of short blond hair, Steve’s actual face beyond his vantage point. “Steve! Answ-”

 

“’m ‘kay. Just…” came Steve’s eventual answer, and Tony had to fling himself backwards as he involuntarily moved forwards with eagerness. His own grasping breath ringing clear in the room as the noose pulled tight.

 

“’ _-ony!_ ”  came the breathless, desperately concerned voice, Steve struggling against the weight, his lungs deflating enough to vocalise his worry with winded determination.

 

Shoving backwards frantically, Tony spun, half off the ground, both supported and punished by the grip of the noose, until he thudded into the post behind him, catching his shoulder at an odd angle.  Collapsing halfway to his knees, using his chest to prop himself against the post, Tony ground himself,  his forehead thudding into the rough wood as he breathed slowly, deeply, colours popping wildly in his line of vison.

 

What the hell was going on?   Ropes. Pulley’s and chains- nooses and slabs of fucking rock… This seemed more like some sick game of ‘ _torture the superhero_ ’ than any form of kidnapping that Tony had ever experienced.  Where were the demands for ransom, the ‘ _build this or suffer_ ’ threats?   Even the numerous revenge kidnappings made more sense than this, with the gloating and rage filled tirades.

 

He finally managed to gasp out a half convincing response to Steve’s continued breathless desperation, gagging and coughing as he replied, “I’m ‘kay! I’m fine – just- I’m good.”

 

“Th- _thank go-”_ Steve’s voice was so strained, so breathless that he couldn’t seem to finish his exclamation of relief, and Tony could hear his thin wheezing huffs of breath, so much worse than mere seconds before.

 

Exactly what was happening began to fall into place as Tony eyed the mess of ropes and chains that stretched from ceiling to floor on the far side of the wall. 

 

“Steve! It’s on a fucking timer! You need to get out! Steve! ST-”  Tony shouted, distressed fear making him lose any sense of calm, Steve’s whistling breath loud in his ears.

 

Steve actually laughed, a hollow huffing sound “Trying.  _Hours…._ Can’t, hands pinned _. N- no purchase.”_

 

Tony stilled, his brain going into overtime as he was presented with a problem.  Steve was obviously stuck beneath the slab, otherwise he’d have escaped hours ago, climbed up, rescued Tony and they’d be well on their merry way into the sunset by now.   

 

_No Purchase.    His hands pinned._

 

Without room to move his hands, even an inch either way, there was no way Steve could get the thrust he needed to force the slab off.  

 

Not even a man with super strength can lift something when immobilised.

 

Tony wondered whose sick idea of torture this was. To leave a man to die, to be crushed to death inch by terrible inch, it served no pur-

 

_He was the purpose._

Trapped high above, Tony was being forced to watch, to _listen,_ as the man he loved was taken from him bare meters away, and he could do _nothing_. To try and help would lead to his own death, and his own death would be a meaningless, selfish sacrifice. _This was about making Tony Stark suffer._

A low, pained sound reached his ears, and Tony didn’t want to know what it could mean, didn’t want to imagine Steve’s lips turning blue, his eyes bulging…

 

“Tony? Are you-   _Tony!?_ ” Steve called, worry making him slightly clearer, and Tony realised that it must have been his own voice, his own pain he’d heard, and Steve, despite his own agony and danger, was still worried about Tony.

 

A deep steadying breath, and Tony answered. “Fine, I’m fine. Just… I need a minute. To work this out”.

 

“The others- _Bruce and Clint_. Thor. Nat _. They’ll come_.” Steve was talking, his voice thready , wavering almost out of Tony’s hearing capabilities.

 

Mind consumed by possibilities, running numbers, likelihoods, percentages, Tony answered absently, “They’ll be too late. That thing will crush you in a matter of minutes.  Another inch or two and- Your ribs. Lungs… No time. “

 

“Tony, you need to, _you need to wait._ Pr- promise me- _After I_ … After.  You’ll- you’ll hang in there…” Steve whispered, and Tony totally missed Steve’s inadvertent irony, caught up in the fact that Steve wasn’t trying to reassure _them._ He was trying to reassure Tony. For _after._

_After Steve was dead._

 

 _“T- Tony. Need. I need y-you t…..prom-_ ”  It was a soft thready whisper, but echoed around the empty cavernous room, and Tony bit his lip, closing his eyes as he pressed his face to the post before him, he wasn’t going to listen to this to Steve-  _Steve saying goodbye._

_He wasn’t._

A rage borne of sheer horror washed over him, and Tony shouted, aiming at the only convenient target, “No. No, no, no! Try! You don’t get to- FUCKING TRY HARDER! ” 

Only silence answered him.

 

 _“Steve?  S- Steve?!”_ The world seemed to slow, and Tony pulled back from his crouch beside the post, awkwardly shuffling to his feet, knowing that he needed, he needed to – _see_ , except he knew he couldn’t.  “St-” the desperate _plea_ cut off as his eyes ran over the piece of paper taped midway up the post.

 

_Mr Stark- Tony. Can I call you Tony?_

_Tony.  I’ve taken the man you purport to supposedly love,_ _and I say supposedly only because of what I know of your Past._

_Captain America to the world._

_Captain Steven Rogers to some._

_Steven to a few._

_‘Love’, I would imagine, to you._

_Normally I wouldn’t interfere in anyone’s personal life like this._ _But you see, and I’m not sure you do, but Mr Rogers is no ordinary man._

_And he deserves more than an ordinary love._

_He’s strong, powerful, courageous and virtuous, but people forget-_

_He needs looking after too. Needs saving as well._

_People who truly love, are truly in-love, they save each other, no matter what._

_Will you save the man you love, even though it will end your own life?_

_All you have to do is jump._

_Do you love him, Tony?_

_Do you love him enough?_

_***as easy as***_

 

_Do you love him enough?_

 

 

Tony knew he could live for 1000 lifetimes, and never would he be able to love Steven Rogers enough.

 

But enough for this?  

Easily.

His eyes had already tracked the rope that led from his own body, trailing to the ceiling in graceful arches, and back down on the other side, to somewhere in the tangled mess of those attached to the slab. It was possible.     His entire weight, caught in free fall, pulling against the slab, might give Steve enough room to get some purchase.  It might be _enough._

 

He stared at the other side of the wall, unsure if Steve was-  If Steve could hear him.  But if there was even the slightest chance, Tony wouldn’t go without- without saying _something._ Not goodbye, because he wasn’t that strong, but _something_. 

“Steve?   I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know if this will-… It says it will, and I’m going to believe, because it asks if it’s enough…I have to believe it’ll be enough, because I can’t-  ” Tony trailed off, his gaze sweeping over the printed words again. _Do you love him enough?_

 

“I’m going to- just… I hope you know.  That I do….more than I can say.  Enough, to save you, anyway I can.  Just. _Enough._  ” The words he really wanted to use, the words he felt he should use, wouldn’t come, and Tony’s breath caught on the ones that would.

 

Something- the inflection in Tony’s voice, the sudden hollow weight of the atmosphere, or just an instinctual _knowing_ must have connected the synapses in Steve’s mind, because inexplicably, _he just knew._

 

Knew that Tony was about to do something _\- something terrible, something irreversible._

“Tony?!  Whatever it is you’re planning to do- don’t! Please. Tony-” Somehow, Steve’s voice was stronger than it had been since Tony had woken, but the underlying breathless quality was still there, the hollow rattle of lungs compressed, of a body forced almost beyond what it could endure.

 

Steve was out of time. They were out of options. It had to be enough.

 

Tony stepped, once, twice… and with his third he fell.

 

_Please._

_Let it be enough._


	2. Chapter 2

He’d been trying to say goodbye, desperate that Tony _know_ that he was- god, _that he was Steve’s everything_.   Trying to force reluctant words from pinched lips, his breath a stuttering mess of shallow gasps and stuttering breathlessness.

 

Tony still knew what he was trying to say, and Steve loved him for it, even if the rage and desperation in Tony’s adamant refusal to listen was to be the last thing he heard.

 

He craned his head, writhing beneath the slab, the minute twitches of movement the only indication of his continual struggle. Desperate to see Tony ( _one last time?_ ), to reassure, to comfort, Steve strained to see above, behind, for anything, any help-

 

And that was when he noticed the piece of paper, taped to the chain above the slab.

 

A letter, hand penned, difficult to read from this angle, but if he could jus-

 

_My Steve,_

_I have seen the things that you do, the lengths to which you are willing to go to save someone, and you must stop, for I have come far too close to losing you on far too many occasions._

_Please don’t misunderstand me, my heart, for I know that courage, brilliance and loyalty are as much an instinctual part of you as your gorgeous blue eyes and all too large heart._

_Yet, you are still to learn that you cannot save everyone._

_Sometimes, the risk doesn’t merit the reward._

_The platform you are standing on is pressurised.  30 seconds after you step off, the outer doors to this bunker will seal permanently.  20 seconds after you step off, the pulley will reverse, and Mr Stark’s sacrifice will be complete._

_It will take even someone of your abilities 20 seconds to leave this room, traverse the hallway and enter the room where Mr Stark resides next door.   20 seconds is also how long you will need to make it to the outer doors from this room._

_My love, You cannot save both yourself and Mr Stark._

_I know that you will be unable to make this call yourself, but you **must**_ **learn,** _so I have made it so. In 20 seconds, Mr Stark **will** die. You cannot save him. The most you will be able to do is arrive in time to watch him die.  It would be a pointless waste, and the only result of this futile course of action would be the loss of your own life, as you will not make it to the outer doors before they close._

_He loved you enough to let you go – honour his sacrifice, undoubtedly the most notable act of his life – by letting him go with dignity._

_Save yourself._

_The pain of his loss will be insignificant in th-_

 

 “Tony?!  Whatever it is you’re planning to do- don’t! Please. Tony-”

 

The words tumbled from Steve’s lips in an unchecked flood, the crushing pressure on his chest becoming overshadowed by the sudden desperation that swamped him- so absolutely sure that he was about to lose the man he loved.

 

Some unacknowledged understanding rose from deep within him, and he knew that Tony had been offered a way to save him, had found some rabbit to be pulled from a hat… likely at the cost of his own life.

 

Not a fair price by any stretch of the imagination, and not one that Steve would _ever_ pay, willingly or otherwise. 

 

He knew though, that Tony wouldn't hesitate- at any cost.

 

That awful surety lent him a desperate strength, and helplessly trapped, powerless to physically react, his only outlet was his voice, and he used it with abandon, as if by sheer force of his frantic determination, Tony might listen.

 

"Tony! Tony?! Answer me!"

 

Unable to see Tony, Steve was reduced to only what his enhanced hearing could provide, and the short puffing breaths of someone preparing themselves- psyching themselves up- was heart-stoppingly familiar; he'd been hearing it for months, in the lead up to every difficult undertaking Tony had ever attempted in his presence. 

 

Steve had never begged anyone for anything in his entire life. Yet, in that moment he'd have fallen to his knees before Red Skull himself if it would have freed him from beneath the slab of rock that trapped him.

 

"Tony- please don't... Please."

 

The soft sound of padding footsteps, the scuffing of feet on cement, a sudden gasp, and then-

 

***as easy as***

 

Later, much later, perhaps even days later, Steve would remember the crushing weight of the stone slab, the protest of bruised ribs approaching breaking point.  The pain as he’d struggled to breathe, to inhale, so utterly familiar, despite the long years since his breath had whistled in weak lungs.  

 

He’d remember the confusion, and the worry that had settled over him, when he’d woken alone, in the silence and the dark. The distress that had run cold fingers down his spine when he’d realised he was trapped, and not even his enhanced strength could free him.  He’d remember the way that distress had blossomed into full blown fear when Tony’s voice had split the silence from above. 

 

He’d remember the helplessness, his weakness, his inability to help the one he loved, as Tony had suffered his fear and confusion alone.  He’d remember the sad acceptance in Tony’s voice as he’d _said goodbye._

 

He’d remember the whistle of weight through open air, the hollow echo as rope stretched taut. He’d remember the beat of silence, and the harsh gurgling breaths that rent the air after.  He’d remember his own voice,screaming for Tony to answer him, to say something, _to be alive._

But in that moment, the only thing he noticed was the slab shifting minutely, its weight lessening just a fraction as it lifted a few centimetres.   

 

It was enough.

It had to be.

 

Pressing upward with the full force of his strength, Steve used the scant room he’d been given to find the traction he’d been lacking, with startling ease, the slab lifted away, and he was able to roll free.

 

Coming to a stop on his knees, his body bent double, one arm wrapped around his ribs as they creaked and protested the sudden moment, Steve’s head automatically turned toward the wall, and the faint gasping gurgle he could hear from beyond. 

 

“Tony!?  Tony- ” Steve called as he rolled jarringly to his feet, turning bodily toward the wa-

 

The piece of paper in the rigging above the slab caught his eye again, and Steve froze where he stood, one foot raised to step from the platform.

 

20 seconds to save Tony. _Save._ Meaning he wasn’t- Meaning he was still alive.

 

20 seconds just to get to the other room.

 

Steve needed to get to the other side of the wall in less than 20 seconds.

 

Four seconds later, shoulder forward to cushion the blow, he smashed through the separating wall.

 

***as easy as***

 

 

Ignoring the way his ribs jarred warningly, and the various aches and pains that plagued his body, Steve skidded to a halt in the centre of the cavernous room, swivelling, staring through the billowing dust and batten debris, the count in the back of his head decreasing all too quickly.

 

14 … 13 … 12 …

 

Twelve seconds.

 

And then-

 




Nigh on naked, dangling less than an inch above the concrete floor, his back arched in an unforgiving curve, struggling to keep his airway open to relieve the strangle hold of the noose around his throat.   

 

Soft whistling rasps of air were all he could draw in, the noose too tight to allow any form speech, his lips tinged with blue, eyes bulging, blown wide with shock and pain, were riveted on Steve, and Steve could see the desperate plea, the _screaming_ need within.

 

 

9 … 8…

 

8 seconds.

 

Two seconds to find Tony, just two. Two too many.

 

Another two to cross the room.

 

6 …

 

6 seconds.

 

One arm settled around Tony’s waist, sweeping him higher, and despite the way his head lolled on Steve’s shoulder, now that the rope wasn’t pulled tight, Steve didn’t have time to check on him.

 

4 …

 

Four seconds.

 

They’re only chance was if he could tear the rope from the pulley. 

 

Steve _pulled._

 

The rope creaked, and Steve felt an enormous weight shudder and pull at his muscles – he was lifting the slab _._

Tony, able to feel the strain of the slab being lifted, despite Steve’s strength acting as a buffer, and realising that Steve was frantically pulling against the strength of the rope that attached his neck to the sab of rock in the next room, he wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist to free his lovers other arm. He managed one gravely rasping word, “ _s- sidew-_ ” before he broke off into a choking coughing fit.

 

2 … 1 …

1 second.

 

Steve felt the rope start to pull back against his muscles, and wrapping both hands around it, he heaved his and Tony’s entire combined body weight to the left.

 

 

***as easy as***

 

Steve lay where he’d landed, breathing through the sudden sharp pain that blossomed down his side.

 

Beside him, Tony was trying to wriggle sluggishly to his elbows, managing a grated hiss between tightly clenched teeth as he shuffled closer, “ _Steve? St-_ ” before devolving into gagging coughs that left him gasping for breath.

 

Reaching blindly, Steve answered with an almost lacklustre “I’m ‘kay- Breathe slow. Don’t move. Don’ talk.” as he dragged Tony into his arms, both collapsing into an exhausted mess of tangled rope, bound arms and various aches and pains, but glad to be alive, and together.

 

It was almost a minute later that Steve felt recovered enough to begin to pull himself together, and he slowly levered himself upright, keeping Tony carefully cradled against his less painful side.

 

Taking a deep breath, he took stock of their current situation. 

 

One of his ribs on the left was definitely cracked, maybe broken, and he felt like a mass of bruising, which was to be expected considering the weight of the slab that had been resting on him for who knew how long. 

 

Steve was relieved to see that the blue was gone from Tony’s lips, although he was still alarmingly pale, his skin having a waxen ashy grey look.  Resting a hand against a stubbled cheek, he smiled when Tony pressed into his touch, but grew faintly more worried at the clamminess of his partner’s cold skin. 

 

Perhaps feeling his concerned gaze, brown eyes, glassy and unfocused, blinked open, wandering a little before settling somewhere in the vicinity of eye contact.

 

A watery grin preceded a whispered sentence, Tony’s voice raw and wrecked,  “ _K- kind of g-glad to see-”_

 

Steve winced in sympathy, and cut him off with a gentle, “Shh.”, dropping a soft press of lips to Tony’s in agreement to the sentiment of what he’d been attempting to force out.   Pulling Tony closer, he curled around his partner, using his own body heat to warm goose pimpled flesh. 

 

Gently turning Tony’s head slightly, he examined the already darkening bruising that was spreading its way across his throat, some areas painfully raw and red.

 

“Getting out might be interesting. Apparently we’re in a bunker, and the outer doors are locked.” Steve explained, not having enough energy left to sound overly concerned and feeling no regret that he hadn’t even spared the time to think about using his 20 seconds to go for the door.

 

The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

 

“Control r- r…” Tony stammered, unable to swallow against the pain to get the words out.

 

“ _Stop talking._ You’re not in any fit state to be wondering around at the moment. Just give yourself a little while, and if the others haven’t found us, we’ll see about finding a control room.”

 

As he was talking, Steve gently eased Tony forward, planning on at least freeing his hands from the roped binding them.

 

“Damn…” he breathed, taking in the winding ropes, biting his lip as he took in the awkward angle of Tony’s arms.

 

“Wh-” Tony managed, before Steve’s hand across his mouth cut him off.

 

“ _Shh._ The ropes. I can’t untie them, they’re too tight” Steve explained, still examining the bonds.

 

Tony shrugged, replying at a barely there whisper, “-Don’t hurt. Leave them.”

 

Steve grimaced, a frown settling on his face, “ _Tony- your hands are blue”,_ and they were, a deeply mottled mess of patchy white and blue, turning purple in some areas, obviously long numb with misuse, and lack of blood flow.

 

If possible, Tony paled more, his voice louder, but more wrecked as he gasped out, “ _Off, n- now! Can’t, h-hands!-_ You? _…Snap?”_ and Steve worried, before he realised what his lover was thinking.

 

_What’s an engineer without hands?_

He’d already thought about using his own strength to break the rope, and he said as much, “If I break the rope, I’ll break your arm. The angle is too-”

 

“Do it.” Tony replied, voice laced with trepidation, but rock solid.

 

Steve wasn’t so convinced, “No! I’m not going to break your arm!”

 

“ _Steve.  C-can’t lose my h-_ ” Tony pleaded, breaking into painful raspy coughing that left him gasping, and Steve could see that his throat was starting to swell. He hoped it didn’t get much worse, the last thing he needed was to have to perform a field tracheotomy.

 

Steve tried one last ditch attempt, “The others will-”

 

“ _’m not going t- to sit here in my socks and un-underw… and wait to be-_ Socks!” Tony cut himself off with the one worded explanation, explaining with halted excitement at Steve’s confused concern, “Sock – the c-cuff. _Razor wire.”_

 

Leaning down, Steve peeled one of Tony’s socks off, and fumbling a little with too large fingers, he managed to strip away a layer of fabric from the cuff, revealing, exactly as Tony had said, a thin wire.

 

“Do I even want to know?” Steve asked as he threaded the small piece of wire through the rope, and with a gentle tug, split through them like butter. 

 

“ _Nat. Quality and p-performance testing.”_ Tony answered, and Steve nodded, because what else could he say?

 

Unwinding the last of the rope, Steve gently eased Tony’s arms down to his side. He slipped his own shirt off, and pulled it over Tony’s head, the thin material not offering much warmth, but it was security in the form of something familiar, and Tony was obviously in need of the comfort, as he offered no resistance, practically curling into the Steve’s waiting arms.   

 

Rubbing up and down Tony’s arms lightly to increase surface blood flow, Steve spoke softly, “The blood returning is going to hurt.  _Really hurt._ ”

 

 

Steve hadn’t been exaggerating.

 

Restless shifting had soon become uncomfortable fidgeting, and then a rigid inability to move, pained moans escaping clenched lips despite Tony’s best efforts to stifle them.  White hot agony raked her fingers up and down his arms, setting nerves aflame.  

 

There was little Steve could do other than gather him close, murmuring soothingly as he slowly rocked side to side, as he waited for Tony to ride out the pain.

 

Somehow though, despite the pain of a thousand fire ants crawling beneath his skin, the roaring headache, chill of the cold air, and rawness of his throat, Tony still managed to dredge up a smile when in the near distance the sound of bulkhead metal meeting unyielding force was heard, accompanied by “BY ASGARD, WE SHALL NOT BE DENIED ENTRY!”

 

***as easy as***

A soft whimper stole from Tony’s lips, and he tensed, shifting uneasily in his sleep.

 

Steve’s head lifted from where it was pillowed on his arms, and seeing the twist of burgeoning distress on his lovers face, he leant forward, whispering softly into a delicate shell ear, one hand carding soothingly though snarled curls until Tony calmed, falling back into a deeper sleep.

 

It had been 12 hours since they’d been ‘rescued’.    Steve was fairly convinced that they’d rescued themselves, but he was willing to accept the ‘assist’.     His cracked rib was barely noticeable, and his bruises were gone. Only the emotional toll of the _incident_ remained.

 

Tony was still bruised and battered all over, his throat almost swollen closed, the skin bruised, ripped and rubbed raw.  His arms were still throbbing, a low steady ache that he could get no relief from, his fingers clumsy and ungainly, which for someone of such great dexterity, was incredibly frustrating.   He was also running a low grade fever, intermittently hot, then cold, and emotionally shattered.

He’d slept on and off for the past 11 hours, and had been having nightmares on and off or the past 11 hours, and Steve felt almost as helpless as he had stuck beneath that slab.

 

They’d seen the entirety of their group, they’d all been present for the ‘assist’, and then Bruce had remained with Tony in the S.H.I.E.L.D medical facility, acting as protector, guard and buffer.   Natasha had stayed with Steve during the hour debrief, kept short by Fury’s surprising understanding, and Steve’s refusal to stay any longer.    

 

Steve still didn’t think he’d ever understand what had motivated the psychopath that had done this to them.  All they’d been able to get from the man was that the Avengers, Steve specifically, had saved him during a fight in the latter half of the year before.    It seemed that he’d developed a bit of a fixation, to the point of having been stalking Steve for several months, inserting himself into fights so as to be ‘rescued’ again.   It was there it seemed that he’d realised the nature of Steve and Tony’s relationship, and desperate to prove his love, he’d concocted his plan. 

 

In which, Tony would die of either ‘self-sacrifice’ or ‘Selfishness’, as the precipice he’d been standing on was set to fall anyway, even if he chose not to save Steve, and Steve was to realize that he needed someone to take care of him too, and would promptly run to the psychopath who’d murdered his lover.

 

Needless to say, the warped reasoning had almost done Steve’s head in, and he’d gotten to the point where he refused to think on it anymore, deciding instead to be content with the knowledge that they’d come out the side, alive and stronger for it.

 

Steve also wasn’t quite sure what to make of the paper he had scrunched in his fist.

 

_Do you love him enough?_

While he was absolutely incensed with Tony, so completely and utterly furious, there really wasn’t even anything he could say. No reprimand, nor censure, because he’d do the exact same thing. In a heartbeat.   He truly loved the impossible, infuriating man beyond any shadow of a doubt, and he easily loved him _that much_.

 

“ _Wat-cha thinkin’_?” came the whisper soft rasp from beside his head, and Steve turned to see brown eyes slitted open, tired and a little wary, but bright and beautiful.

 

Brushing a wayward curl from Tony’s forehead, and sinking his fingers into dark curls to massage lightly, Steve answered with a smile, “Oh, just thinking about how completely furious I am with you, and angry with myself because I can’t say anything, because I’d do the exact same thing.”

 

Tony nodded, a half smile caught on his lips as he murmured his reply, “gonna be angry with you anyway, so – guess you can be mad.”

 

Steve leaning in closer, barely a hairsbreadth of space between them, whispered back, “Then, I am so _unbelievably_ mad at you right now. What on earth were you thinking?!”

 

“That I love you” Tony murmured, his lips flush against Steve’s, and then no more speaking was heard for a while.

 

***as easy as***

Steve Rogers worst memories weren’t reimagining’s playing within his head in bright technicolour and surround sound.  He’d never dreamt of Bucky falling.  He didn’t wake to panic and fear, Bucky’s name on his lips, arm outstretched.  He didn't truly remember feeling of utter loss and devastation as Bucky's fingers had slipped through his.

 

Those memories were of hazel eyes, huge and frightened, and yet full of faith and hope, that Steve had always known was terribly misplaced.

 

He didn't remember the cold spread of water as it had crystallised into ice, creeping over his skin.   He didn't startle awake, stomach dropping as he ‘fell’, the roiling ocean rising up in the expanse of his dreaming vision.

 

Steve remembered best the stinging, chest seizing cold, settling deep in his lungs and freezing the breath on his lips.

 

Steve wouldn't ever dream of Tony jumping, his imagination running wild, picturing eyes bulging, and lips turning blue. He wouldn't remember the rope contrasting in an ugly slash of colour against the raw redness of Tony's throat.

 

Steve would only ever dream of soft padding footsteps, a rustle of satin and a gasp, before air was choked away, in a gurgling, hacking rasp.  And then, in the pitch darkness of his empty nightmare, soft blue glow extinguished, Steve would hear nothing. Only silence, and the wild beating of his own heart.

 

Eyes blinking open rapidly, chasing away the lingering darkness of the nightmare, Steve reached for Tony, hands seeking the warm form that should be sprawled out beside him.

Only to encounter emptiness.

 

Wondering if Tony had escaped to the workshop _again_ , Steve flopped back with a sigh, an arm thrown over gritty eyes as he contemplated the 50 floor trek he’d have to endure to fetch his errant lover back to bed where he belonged.

 

With a sigh, he dropped his arm, eyes blinking tiredly at ceiling above and the –

 

Slowly rotating corpse that hung there, brown eyes dead and lifeless, skin grey and mottled with rot.

 

 

_Steve came awake with a choked gasp, flinging himself upright, heart thudding in his chest-_

Only to startle almost as badly when warm arms wrapped around his waist from the side and a dark tussled head nuzzled sleepily into his hip.  “ _Okay?_ ” Tony asked, voice retaining a touch of the awful rasping rawness that had chased it for the week or so after the _incident_ as they taken to calling it.

 

Steve sighed, and seeking the comfort, but not willing to admit it, he reached down, wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist and dragged him upright, into a proper embrace, his head beneath Steve’s chin, and Steve’s arms wrapped tightly around him. Reaffirming.

 

“Yeah. We’re getting there, I think”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough is Enough ;)
> 
> \- Sorry for the delay folks, writing with a broken wrist sucks.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, be on the lookout for more soon.  
> \- Happy Reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> \- Sorry about the cliffie? I tried guys, really. Just - not very hard.
> 
> -Science is inaccurate and madeup. Author sucks at maths. Believe at own risk, but take in the spirit its offered. ALso, medical what the?
> 
> -Other half of fic should be up within 48hrs - I'm flying home from Vegas today, so 24+ hours in airports and planes... plenty of time for Stony resolution.
> 
> -Happy reading :)


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